Today we signed my son up for an experimental treatment for people who’ve suffered strokes. His stroke occurred when he was only five weeks old, during a necessary, but invasive medical procedure. If this treatment works, after thirty-eight years of living in a very bum body, he has the possibility of some relief. Apparently, the treatment helps 90% of the people who receive it. So the range of relief could be anywhere from no change to somewhat substantial change.
I no longer am a hopeful person, although I once thrived on hope. I’m not pessimistic–although I’ve been accused of that. For me, hope is akin to setting myself up for suffering. I’ve learned that it’s simpler to remain open and curious to whatever outcome shows up.
This picture of my son was taken in the first half of 1976, pre-open heart surgery (no fat scar running down his chest). He was already functionally one-handed, and his left hand wandered in the air before he learned to pin it down.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013